Let them eat cake err.... red lobster!
So Olivia…
Wow. Lobster for dinner. You must be living the high bourgeois lifestyle. Though you don’t wear a petticoat, lounge through the labyrinths of Versailles, or have servants offering courses of gluttony beside the vomitorium, you do wear a Dunder Mifflin shirt, pay a mortgage on a 3-story townhouse, and eat a red lobster for dinner. Unfortunately, not all of us are as blessed as you.
But it’s okay. I know you’re not the type to take this for granted. I can’t imagine you struggling with your ugg boots, clutching a half-positive champagne glass. I’ll never find you soaring across your hardwood through an open door, irregardless of real superpowers. I won’t see you miraculously straddling the vents of your rooftop, your white wine riding the black, torturous wind. Sure, no one hears or sees you. They’re all sheltered from the thunder, belching anger.
But you must save them. It is your duty. You are empress of all that is below you. Your voice, gilded with confidence, is wise. It has quenched from a bottle of certainty. A vase of knowledge. A voice must battle the stampede. Defend the proletariat. Fortress all your love. “If they don’t have a low-rate mortgage with their bank, then let them eat cake err…. red lobster!”
Nope. I just don’t see you doing that. But even if you do it’s okay. Because at $6.99/lb, lobster is cheaper than cake.
-Not Olivia
